Stories of Ansalon from the view of Khakarot.

Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a miniscule pocket book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Khakarot' scribed in glowing blue ink.

Author: Khakarot
Date Mon Dec 24 13:29:47 2001
Subject The return of Khakarot
its been a long time, but I have returned to reclaim what is mine.
Fistandantalous may have taken my body, and the one I inhabit now may be
weak and frail, but I will succeed.
My magic is still weakened, but I have journeyed plains to hone the
skills I still posses. I fully intend to destroy those who wronged me,
and ascend to my previous power, and finally surpass it.
Now I go in hiding, working to hone my magic, till the day I can
confront him. All my life I have lost. I lost an arm, I lost my life,
and then I lost the body I once had in that life.
But no longer will I be a loser.
Author: Khakarot
Date Thu Jun 1 15:48:59 2006
Subject Homecoming
Old men often lose track of the time, and Khakarot was no exception.
Snoring contentedly upon a old hammock in the great dome of Palanthas,
he was awoken by an annoying buzzing. Cracking open his weary eyelids,
Khakarot slammed them shut to block out the bright noon-time light. The
buzzing continued, resolving itself into questioning words.
Shaking himself to a sitting position, Khakarot finally lifted his heavy
eyelids, blinking a few times for good measure. Some youngster was
babbling on about how he wanted to join the mercenaries or something.
Couldn't it wait till he woke up? Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Khak
decided to give the man a talking to and send him on his way. He was
just about to resume his beautiful nap when twin thoughts collided in
his head: "How did he know I was mercenary?" , And, "Why hasn't some
other merc handled this already?"
Bothered by the second more than the first, Khakarot pushed himself up
with his cane, and headed for port. He never was sure which smelled
worse, a hussy's groin or the fish- market. Unfortunately he for him he
had to pass through the latter on his way. Waving off slimy merchants
and beggars, the old man known as Khakarot threaded his way through the
stinking crowds, till he found his way to the docks.
A long journey fraught with peril greeted him, but being old and wise,
Khakarot survived. In his younger days he was a battle mage of some
power, though now he longed only for spells of rejuvenation or
teleportation. Pirates were greeted by fireballs, and their flaming
sails waved farewell to Khakarot as he sailed away. Things of the deep,
bad weather, and hunger all assailed him, but eventually he reached the
destination Abanasinia and Solace.
By comparison, crossing Crystalmir Lake was easy and getting to the
mercenary headquarters even easier. But what greeted him appalled him.
Dust and cobwebs hung from a door that looked about to remove itself
from the hinges. The only inhabitants left were the rats, who looked
thin and unhealthy. Relieved to find the Warlord's office intact,
Khakarot flopped down on the desk, and resolved to rebuild mercenary in
the morning.
It was many days before he bothered to stir.
Author: Khakarot
Date Thu Jun 1 16:48:59 2006
Subject The Call
In the hands of every scoundrel, cutthroat, or down on their luck
swordsman, a copy of this handwritten note can be found. Passed from
destitute miners to lonesome half-elves, the call works it way around Krynn:
_________________________________________
/ \
| Brothers I write to you to let you \
| you know that the ancient brotherhood |
> of Mercenaries is not yet dead. I |
| to ask for your strength and your |
\ swordarm. In return I promise a fair /
| bit of a steel and a home. |
/ <
\ Youll find us near solace. Come, be my |
/ battle-brother, \
| -Khakarot _____ |
\ /\____ / \_________________/
\/ \ ___/\_/
\/
Author: Khakarot
Date Thu Jul 20 18:58:15 2006
Subject ----A New Leaf - Khakarot----
The life of a renegade is not an easy one. One can live a whole live on
the lamb, always running, never safe, always hiding. That kind of life
drives some mad and drives others into the clutches of mad-men. I am the
second type. Long ago as a young mercenary I discovered magic, and used it
without the conclave's permission. In time the constant paranoia drove me
to follow another renegade into the clutches of the Dark Queen.
It was not an easy time for me, but I made do. I sacrificed my limbs, life,
and soul in that twisted cause. I did things that defy logic and the
imagination to be free of that same cause. I went mad for a time, wandering
the forests around Prayer's Eye Peak. Much time passed, as I faded from my
own memory and consciousness. Krynn forgot me, as I forgot it. I floated
in nothing, doing nothing, until the woods had enough of me and belched me
out on the doorstep of Solace. I began to remember.
A kind woman, a priestess, I know not her name. She helped me. My clothes
were mere rags, but she gave me steel to feed and clothe myself. It was
strange, waking up from nothingness to find myself an old man. I ate in
quiet silence, and remembered the cause of Mercenary. The old cause and old
habits re-emerged, and I became a renegade again. Still, my age would not
be ignored, and asserted itself quite vocally from time to time. I am old,
and will die soon.
The thoughts of the old began to assail me: death, afterlife, the abyss, and
the gods. I don't want to spend the rest of eternity with that damnable
Dark Queen - but the weight of my sins was carrying me there. I've skinned
kender alive, committed rape, murdered innocents, burned property, nearly
killed my allies just to finish one enemy. I spoke to Galadir on the
matter, he said Paladine forgives. I hope so. Thinking back to that kind
priestess, I don't know if I can ever be that good.
-Khakarot.

The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD

Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.